


The Fair Folk and How to Find Them: Revelations

by finch_in_flight



Series: The Fair Folk and How to Find Them [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Multi, Pan’s Labyrinth, Seelie Court, Unseelie Court, skyrim lore, usage of Pan and the fae
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-16 19:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28586958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finch_in_flight/pseuds/finch_in_flight
Summary: You had always dreamt of something bigger in life, but you never imagined faeries would tear you from the mundane. Who knew all it took was a faun, a Witcher, a bard, a sorceress, and a princess to take your life from monotony to an adventure.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader, Jaskier | Dandelion/Reader
Series: The Fair Folk and How to Find Them [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2094681
Comments: 20
Kudos: 30





	1. i || our journey begins

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! My name is Lili and I’m writing this as an excuse to practice writing, as well as go add to the lovely community here. This story is going to steal elements from Pan’s Labyrinth as well as Skyrim and tie them as a plot point. Comments would be loved very much, as well as any hopes for storyline!! What would you like to see? Please let me know. This is our adventure, let’s make it great :)

Day after day, you dreamt of more. Of more than being the one to feed the beast kept beneath the castle, of more than being a simple maid. Of more than this mundane life you found yourself trapped in. These thoughts were ever present in your mind, plaguing your head at the darkest hours and even when awake, the sweet caress of their claws tightening around your throat. Sometimes those thoughts stroked your hair and told you the easiest way out was to surrender yourself to them, how simple it would be to let go of the world and let them be the animated force beneath your skin. 

“Good morning, sweet one.”

You never did take those voices up on their offer. You had one thing to live for, and that is the creature of legends trapped behind bars that you feed with gentle hands, as you do every morning. 

A chuff was all you got in response to your daily greeting, the beast pulling itself from the ground and stretching its back with a salacious series of pops. Its dark eyes fixed on you, meeting your own. You swear you see a flash of relief, perhaps recognition and delight, upon seeing you with your hands curled around the spokes of the iron bars. It was cold, but you didn’t mind. The living legend before you couldn’t even touch the iron without their skin sizzling and boils erupting. 

“Good morning, sweet one,” you say again, hands trailing down the rough bars before tangling in the fabrics of your skirts. “I’m afraid there is only fruit and some bread today, the Viscount ordered the meat to be saved for his guests tonight.” You were met with an annoyed huff from the beast in front of you, obviously miffed about not getting to eat the thing that was the highlight of their day. 

“Worry not, though!” Its eyes flicked back to you, a black tongue licking over dry lips as it hobbled towards where you stood. You pulled your hand from your skirt pocket, clutching a sizable cut of venison wrapped in layers upon layers of paper. “This is for you—“ you dropped the parcel into the outstretched hand, a trill of thanks leaving the creature as it dug into the meat. “I snuck it from the pantry.”

You simply watched on in awe, the thoughts that usually swam in your mind were always quiet upon being with this monster. From its big, curled horns covered in moss to its yellowed teeth that lined its mouth like needles. It had sloping hooves with thick fur on its legs, leading up to an almost human torso if it weren’t for the skin on its chest and back looking like mottled wood. Its face is what always captured you. From the flattened nose to the wide cheekbones, the pair of spirals etched into the skin on its forehead—it was as if a deer and a tree made love and this beautiful beast crawled forth on its cloven hooves, gnarled and clawed hands grasping at anything to help it stand. 

It was beautiful, even now. Blood from the venison stained the chin and fingertips of the beast, soaking into the messy fur on its neck, and you simply watched as you always did. 

“I wish I could free you, sweet one. They’re planning on selling you tonight to Nilfgard” You had overheard nobles tittering while you served tea the other day, the Viscount’s guests this evening were mages from some established brotherhood or something of the sort. The city you and your little beast were stuck in was huge and bustling with dirty money. Gambling, brothels, piracy, thieves and assassins—all of them made their home in this city with no rules. You had managed to skirt by as one of the many staff members the Viscount had, slowly saving up to move from the cursed city. This dirty, awful city you were stuck in thanks to your shitty father wasting his days away drinking his own weight in ale. 

He was gone. You felt happy knowing he was in a better place, most likely with your mother, but you were still here. Still here in this sinking shithole of a city teeming with secrets and curses. Still here with the thoughts in your mind that tried to choke you out. You were still here, and all you had was the clothes on your back and this monster in a cage you’ve been tasked with caring for. 

“Your company has been invaluable to me. Regardless of if you can or cannot understand me, I wish to tell you that you have been the reason I’m still alive. You gave me hope, you have shown me such fantastic and beautiful beings such as you exist. And for that, I will always be indebted to you.” Tears rolled down your cheeks as you finished, the creature quickly shuffling and crouching next to the bars—closer than it did to receive the meat you brought—and brushed a gnarled, curled horn against the iron. You pet it with gentle touches, overwhelmed by losing this friend, by being allowed to touch it. 

“I know not your name nor what you are, but you will always be my savior.” With that you pulled your hand back and wiped your face. Your cheeks were sure to be flushed and you would rather not deal with the jeering voices of the guards calling you a monster fucker. Your kindness to the beast was made fun of, but you had to hold your tongue for your own sake. It really wasn’t fair. 

Life wasn’t fair. 

You climbed up the steps from the dungeons below the Viscount’s keep taking two steps at a time, uncaring of any rainwater that would make the steps slick. You truly did not care anymore if you slipped and fell back down, only to crack your head open and bleed to death. Your one friend in this whole world, this awful world, was to be sold away to a kingdom wanting to use it for violence. 

The streets bustled with people. Too many people for you right now. You felt your throat tightening as tears threatened to surface and you ducked into the first alleyway you could. Taking as deep a breath as you could, you stared down at your boots. They were crusted in mud around the soles, no doubt the fault of the steps from the keep. Small scuffs decorated the sides like little scars to the leather, scars that moved and bent as you wriggled your toes in your socks. 

Emotions under control, you fisted your skirts and steeled yourself for the walk back to your job. In this horrid city there are rules to be followed. 

Back to the keep. Back above your beast. Back to sweeping floors and washing bedsheets stained with evidence of cheating husbands and wives. Back to polishing candlesticks and wall sconces. Back to ignoring the annoying noblewomen that did nothing all day. Back to the same old routine you never could escape. 

Your day carried on par usual, mundane and simple. Clean this, straighten up that, fold the laundry, dust the corridors. All the same, all mindless, all just little tasks. The thoughts ran wild in your head, pleading for control. They can make it better, they said. Just give up, just let them breathe through your lungs. Just, just, just. 

Just jump out the window and end it all. Leave the other serving folks to peel your body from the ground. That would be easy, wouldn’t it? 

You ignored the thoughts, and you carried on as you always did. Dreaming of being meant for something bigger than this sullen nightmare of a city. As your time there rolled to a close, you could feel the relief of resting your legs set in. Perhaps you’d drink and spend too long in the bath tonight, or maybe you’d be unusual and go find a man to take you home. You shook your head at the thought, laughing a little. 

You never had much luck with men. You were educated and could read, you had a temper, and you spoke your mind. Not exactly what a man wants in a wife. “Oh yes, dear husband,” you mocked aloud, “I sympathize with monsters. That’ll surely get me killed.” 

You walked on the seam between the fancy tiles lining the entryway of the Keep, following the same path as always to the city center. Among the public you had to follow the rules that kept you and other ladies alive in this hellish city. 

Rule number one, do not make eye contact with anyone. 

You kept your gaze down, watching where you stepped and tracing the cobblestone pathways worn smooth by use. Little green plantlings and moss were trying to grow between the stones, their vibrant colors a blessing to this grey city. A chilly wind passed through the crowded street as rain started sprinkling again, it always seemed to rain here. You were ever grateful your overcoat was oiled and your boots were sealed, lest you be caught in the cold of the drizzle or have water seep into your socks. 

Where most cities would have a fountain, this shitstain city known as Riften had a grand oak tree. It hadn’t had leaves in years, but the wood alone was stunning. Performers sang and danced in the plaza, shopkeeps yelling about their wares and a million reasons why one should buy from them. There were bees, you noted, buzzing around the plaza too, engrossed in whatever flowers bloomed from hanging baskets. A little splash of color in this grey normalcy. 

Rule number two, do not talk to strangers.

You kept your mouth shut as the occasional passerby bumped into you, simply nodding and continuing down the winding streets. One left, two rights, across a small bridge, and up some stairs. Your housing stood tall against the wall surrounding the city, grey on grey if not for the greenery climbing the sides of the building. A simple boarding house is what you called home. You lived with several of the girls that stayed unmarried and worked at the brothels, only coming home to bathe and pretty themselves up again to tempt male desire. Everyone had their own rooms, their was a nice shared bath and common kitchen and parlor area. It was quite nice, the ceiling didn’t leak and any rodents were handled by the house cat, Abram. 

You couldn’t help but nearly collapse in the red velvet armchair in the common space, boots and overcoat discarded as you warmed yourself by the raging fire. Abram lay curled a pace away, tail gently swaying to the beat of an invisible song. In a chair nearby, an older resident named Mathilda hummed quietly as she knitted a pair of grey woolen socks, a matching set to the ones you were wearing currently. Ambrose was giggling alongside Lacey as they dressed nicely for their night on the town, sure to make pretty coin at taverns as they danced and seduced men for their wallets. Gertrude thumped around in the kitchen as she prepared a stew for everyone rich with vegetables and beef. 

It was a vaguely uncomfortable quiet, none of you every trying to actively interact with the other residents. Everyone minded their privacy and did their own thing. Gertrude was a kitchenmaid at a nearby inn, Ambrose and Lacey were farmhands by day and streetwomen by night, Mathilda wrote letters for those who could not read. And you? You took care of the monster beneath the city. 

Rule three, ignore all magic. 

The house felt a little livelier as everyone took their respective seats at the dining table, a few other ladies from upstairs and elsewhere joining for the meal. Stew and bread lay spread across the table, bowls of fruit spilling over the edges, small crackers and fine biscuits stacked high on plates. Cheeses and dried meats lay nearby, next to bottles of wine and a kettle of tea. There was a little here for everyone. 

Quick prayers were said to various gods and goddesses before everyone began. You took some stew for yourself, bread following. A few berries and biscuits, a slice of cheese and meat for each. None of the silverware at the table matched, but you didn’t mind one bit as you took your spoon with an intricate handle and began shoveling warm stew into your mouth. The taste was divine, as expected of the woman who made it. Every meal was a good meal, and every lady at this table could attest to that. 

As the moon grew high in the sky and the women in the large house all settled, as Abram wove through legs for scraps and scratches, you cleared your place and made your way to the end of the hallway on the first floor. Several of your housemates lived on the upper floors, but you and a few others had rooms level to the ground. Which, in your mind, was a relief. You weren’t partial of heights, and the lowest level also meant no leaky roofs. 

Pulling the door shut, it clicked noisily as the latch locked. At least it didn’t squeak like some of the other doors in the house, you thought to yourself with a small hum. The small fire burning away in the sheltered hearth gave you enough light to flit around the room, lighting the oil lamps and various candles you owned. Smoke and heady scents of geranium and spearmint filled your meager room as you stripped off your socks Mathilda had made you, laying them across the back of your desk chair. 

One by one articles of clothing were removed. Grey linen apron, navy blue tailored dress, chemise, knee high stockings and your garters. You left your undergarments on as you searched for your nightgown, excited beyond belief to remove your breast strap and sleep. Men in the town called them breast bags, which is an apt name due to appearances, but Mathilda’s tailoring hands made you and all the other ladies one that gave you the support of a bodice with half the hassle. 

Your fingers reached behind you to undo the ties, slipping the straps from your shoulders and removing the whole garment. Gods be damned, you threw the thing over your shoulder somewhere and dove into your nightgown and finally into bed. You were lucky enough the ladies you lived with made mattresses of not only straw, but a blend with flax fiber, wool, and other animal fur. It made it a bit more comfortable, and you couldn’t help but breathe deeply as you sank as far as you could into it. 

One by one, your candles winked out and the hearth carried on burning on embers. Droplets of dew collected on your window, the darkness outside seeping in. For some reason, you were torn from your sleep, you knew not why. Something simply felt, well, wrong. You could smell wet dirt and the soured scent of a goat, you could taste the magic on your tongue as it flooded your room. Something small tugged on your hair and you shot up, nearly smacking whatever it was from you. 

“Do not...” a voice drawled out slowly from the darkest corner of your room, and you felt your blood turn to ice. “Worry. She is my friend.”

Before you could say anything, a small chitter came from where your pillow was, and in the bleak moonlight you saw something that made your heart freeze. It was a rather large and sticksh bug with three sets of legs, wings protruding from the lower half of the body as its antennae waved about. Another set of clicks, and the voice in the corner spoke again. 

“If you are as indebted to me as you say...” the voice was slow and scratchy, thick with mystery and with an almost sadistic jolly. “Then you’ll help me escape this forsaken place.” The figure stepped forward, and you were met with the sight of your beast from beneath the city, standing on two legs at a taller height than you’ve ever seen before. Its eyes were a sickly yellow swallowed by black pupils, and you felt tingling beneath your skin as you made the most important decision of your life. 

“I’ll help you.”

It smiled, a thousand needles of teeth shining from the darkness. 


	2. ii || a taste of magic

Your beast had informed you he was a faun, and that his name was Pan. The odd bug was one of his faeries, which you hardly believed at first. Weren’t faeries supposed to be little women in dresses made from flowers? It seems your ignorance was entertaining, and Pan managed to chuff out laughter when you asked him more. 

“We must go soon, Little One.” He spoke faster now, less rough, but still odd. He had a lilt to his voice that was equal parts alluring and terrifying, the euphoria of hearing him speak was enough to squash those feelings. 

“Right...” you trailed off, looking around your room as your hands scrunched the skirt of your nightgown, an ever present quirk of anxiousness that Pan had picked up on. 

A large hand raised above you, resting on your head with a gentle pat. He smelled of thyme and other herbs, of musk and earth, dried leaves. Just, nature. “You will not be able to return to this life, take what you need. We must go.” And with that he slid his clawed hand down the side of your face and to your shoulder before removing it, the chittering and clicking of his faerie growing almost aggressive. 

You quickly redressed, yanking back on your breast strap and stockings, underdress and so forth. You chose to pass on the apron, instead settling on a warmer overdress over your navy blue one. Dropping to your knees, you felt underneath your bed for your bag. It was made from leather and canvas, and was oddly spacious for what it was. 

You worked fast, ignoring your wild thoughts and tuning out Pan’s conversation with his faerie. You threw a second set of clothes in your bag, a book of herbal remedies you’d slowly been reading though, your savings, and a few other little things you’d need. Ah, yes, you’d have to sneak some food too. 

Almost knocking your bottle of ink over, you scrawled a hasty note about falling in love with a traveler—something a village girl dreams about, so you know your housemates would believe it—and signed your name as if signing a contract to the faun. Your faun. 

No time for that. You tugged your warm socks on, desperate to be fast in grabbing food that wouldn’t spoil as well as your boots and overcoat. “Pan?” You asked as you rest a hand on the door handle. The faun let out a hum, ears flicking your direction as he turned slowly. “I’ll meet you outside?” He nodded, and you scurried faster than the mice Abram chased. 

Pan nearly gave you a heart attack when you snuck out the back entrance of the house, his hand petting your head again as he called you a good girl. When you asked him why, he said it was because you were his human now, and he left it at that. 

He was awfully big now that he could stand, not crawling around on all four like an animal, and you finally took in just how awe striking he was. He stood a head or so taller than the largest man you’ve ever seen, cheekbones a blade to the moonlight with thin lips and his flattened nose. He reminded you of what someone would say a lion looked like, with his ears being furry and elongated, and the bushels of fur surrounding his neck, bust, shoulders, and back. The rest of him was an enigma to you, he looked like he was made of wood. Not that he was carved, but as if he grew from a tree and walked away. 

The most curious thing was the bag he had strung across his torso, however, that was none of your business. 

The three of you kept to the shadows, tucking out of sight of any passing city guards. Their armor clanking was a dead giveaway as to where they were, and with your light step and Pan making no noise you were able to slink along like rats in the cellar. Unseen, unheard, unnoticed. It was almost intoxicating, the thrill of adventure and something else alluring swirling beneath your fingertips as you and the faun and the faerie followed the city wall, hoping for a crack or loose brick someplace. Worst case scenario you’d have to slip through the gates during a shift change, which would be a pain and quite difficult, so you had your fingers crossed for the former. 

Riften was backed against a sort of cliff face, tucked betwixt the rocks above and the marshy sea beside, the main city gates being the one entrance. 

The one exit. Shit. 

Luckily, halfway between a nearby bakery, The Prancing Primrose, and a rather foul smelling herb shop, Artur’s Apothecary, you and your companions came face to face with a small wooded area. You almost commented how odd it was until you saw that the trees beyond the walls had crushed the stones and provided a way out. 

“This will do.” Pan drawled out, already heating himself over the crumbled stones, yellow eyes glinting in the dark as he turned back to you. A gnarled wooden hand reached out and grasped your own, pulling you up and along a little tougher than gentle. As soon as you crossed the boundary of the city into the world beyond, horns blew and the city arose in a frenzy. It seems the Viscount found out his monster beneath the keep was gone, and he was less than thrilled about it. 

Pan hissed at the noise, narrowing his eyes at the growing light. It was in that moment that you realized he was far more animal than you first thought. You were a fool for thinking of him as if he was a human—he wasn’t. He was a faun, and you knew nothing of fauns. His teeth alone should have been warning, but something pulled you to him. A need for adventure and unknown. 

“Quickly!” He fisted your overcoat and yanked you into movement, the two of you running through the muddy area. Between the dry patches where the conifers grew and the marshy areas where belladonna danced and spouted, you were far from safe. You’d heard stories of monsters that lived out here. Actual monsters, not like Pan. Monsters that would not hesitate to kill you for the fun of it, monsters that would peel your skin from your body, monsters that would eat all of you until nothing remained but a name and a story. 

The dark mud grabbed at your boots, clinging on like a mass of little hands telling you this was a mistake. That helping the faun was a bad idea, but somewhere deep inside your wild thoughts laughed. At least you’d die doing something you chose to do. At least you’d die doing something in life, doing something adventurous. No more dusting, no more laundering. No more sweeping and mopping, no more wiping glasses after a banquet. Only you, the sky, and a sense of freedom you haven’t felt in ages. 

The thoughts said you were cursed to die, but gods you’ve never felt so alive. 

If you were to sit and think logically, you might’ve come to the conclusion that this was the faun working his magic on you. Making you compliant to his whims, his needs to escape. He could’ve done it on his own, but he brought you for some reason. If you were to sit and think logically, you’d realize this was quite odd. But you didn’t sit, and you didn’t think. You were caught up in the thrill of your muscles burning as you ran, the thrill of the world around you pulsing with life, feeling like you could fly with the sheer amount of Everything flooding your body. 

Dogs yipping and men yelling filled the silence of the marsh as they filed out from Riften, searching for Pan. If they were on horses, perhaps you would worry. They weren’t, though. They were on foot, as you were, and it was you with the head start. 

Your pace with Pan slowed as the sun climbed into the sky, your breath catching at the scene of the sun rising. You’d never seen something quite so mystical, never had the opportunity to watch the light bloom across the land like a flower unfurling in springtime. “Does this happen every morn?” You sounded wispy, your voice thin and airy. 

“Indeed, Little One. Every morning the sky allows it, the sun reaches above to kiss the moon, and her light spills across the land like river water.” Pan answered you as he tore at the rabbit he had caught, feeding bits of its flesh to his faerie. “We mustn’t tarry, lest we miss who I want you to meet.” 

You turned from the sunrise and raised an eyebrow, silently asking for the faun to continue. He didn’t. 

He still didn’t when you sat near him and dug into the dry sausages you’d stolen from the pantry at your old home, the salt biting your tongue as you chewed. He had a point—you probably should hurry to wherever you were going. You two were technically fugitives at this point, Riften escapees. Well, he was, not you. You supposed you would count by association though. Perhaps you’d be tried for witchcraft and burned at the stake. 

Your thoughts howled in laughter at the idea. Trial by fire, what a way to go. 

You stood on tired feet as Pan finished off what remained of his rabbit, waiting instruction on where to go. He gestured to walk with a knobby wooden hand, setting a decent brisk pace. “We have a task for you,” he began in his lilting voice, “We need a key. Only you can get it.”

“Why me?”

“For you are my friend, and you are small enough to fit in the Witch Elm.” 

“Pardon?” You’d never heard of such a tree. Your thoughts spilled through, suggesting it was the elm they burned witches on. 

Pan didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t ask anything else. Simply walked alongside him, his faerie coming to sit on your shoulder at one point and click at you in mock conversation. You responded, as one would with a cat, and every time you did it would trill. Hours passed on like this, small breaks for food and to relieve yourself, to drink from a stream, or for Pan to wander off and speak to forest beings or something. He didn’t tell, you didn’t ask. 

The fifth hour came and went, not that you could tell time, but as you passed from conifers to open fields, then open fields to thick deciduous trees another two faeries joined you. 

You spoke up for the first time in a while, watching the three sister fae reunite. “Are they yours? All three?”

Pan let out a laugh that sounded like a hacking cough, letting the faeries land on his gnarled arm. “They are, as they are yours too now.”

The one that was partial to you took her place back on your shoulder, the other two hovering in the air between you and Pan and you traversed the woods. The underbrush was thick, twisting roots and strands of ivy littered the ground. Small mushrooms and ferns sprouted wherever they could and carved stones lay along what could barely be called a path. Still, Pan lead you without faltering, silence enveloping you two as you thought over what all happened. 

You were homeless now, you were in arms with a faun. You broke your city’s unspoken rules. You being missing in conjunction to the faun, who was your responsibility, would surely get your head on a pike. You couldn’t return—only walk forward. And for why? Because you were tired of what your life was? Tired of the thoughts rattling your skull as you tried not to listen to their whims? Because you felt alive for once in your life? There was a myriad of reasons, you couldn’t place it to just one thing, one reason. 

The moisture hanging on the underbrush pulled the crusted mud from your boots and washed away your worries. You didn’t know why or how, but you accepted it. It seems to be this is how magic is. Something you feel but can’t explain. The moisture pulled at the crusted mud as Pan led you to a curled and rather ugly tree, reminiscent of how his horns looked. It was dark, its bark nearly black and mottled with lichen. It twisted up and to the left, spindly branches reaching out like fingers towards the sky like a woman weeping over her late husband. A shiver ran through you and you swore you could almost see a face in the knots on the trunk. The base of the trunk was split, gaping like an open maw into the darkness below, and you felt your stomach drop. You knew before he said it that Pan wanted you to go down there. 

“Beneath the Elm is a toad, he does not like making friends. Feed him these and take the key—“ Pan handed you a small cluster of glass marbles and rocks. “Do not dally, go.”

His voice shook you, it was cold and rough. More scathing than usual, more of that sadistic jolly. As if he awaited your death so his needle teeth could tear your flesh from your body like he did with the rabbit earlier. He’s not a person, you reminded yourself, he’s a faerie. He’s not a person. He’s not human. 

You tucked the marbles and rocks in your pocket, shedding your overcoat and bag to rest by the tree before climbing down into the hole. The darkness swallowing you as you cringed, feet landing on a solid surface. 

Then you slipped, and with a scream you slid somewhere deep beneath the world. 

Wherever you landed was mucky, sticky, and incredibly humid. It felt like a public bathroom, and the smell was so awful that you had no choice but to hurl up whatever food you’d managed to eat today. It was hot. It was sticky. It was awful. This whole experience felt like a backwards birth to you, and you vomited again at the idea of meeting the road you were supposed to steal from. 

With a bit of courage you truly didn’t have, you crawled on your knees and hands through the warm, slick mud. You could feel it in your hair and on your face, no doubt all of you was smeared in it. Your poor socks, Mathilda would cry at the state they were bound to be in. You felt your way along the floor and walls of the tunnel, slowly moving forward. The buzzing of bugs and clinking of chitin only served to remind you that not only were you in the dark, but you were in the mud and surrounded by bugs. You had never felt so disgusting in your life. 

You had to bite your tongue as your hand came in contact with something hot. Bumpy mucus covered skin was all you felt with your right hand, fully aware that not only was this the toad, but it was fucking huge. “Excuse me... I have, um. I have gifts for you.” Your voice betrayed how shaky you were, panic clinging to you like a child to their mother. 

The toad bellowed, tongue curling around your wrist and feeling for whatever you just offered. With a startled noise and a “wait!” You pulled the marbles and rocks from your dress pocket, holding them out. 

The toad eagerly swiped his tongue along your palm, picking up all the things from your hand, the soft muscle pressing against the crevices of your fingers in a way that left you feeling violated. 

You were expecting the toad to make some sort of noise and move, revealing the key. You were very much not expecting the toad to shriek in agony and the smell of burning flesh escaped its mouth. You couldn’t see anything, but you had a faint idea it was digging in its own mouth to remove what you fed it. 

Within minutes silence enveloped you, and you felt the piles of internal organs the toad vomited out much like you with your breakfast not much earlier. Tears were streaming down your dirty face as you dug through the mud, slime, and blood. Your skin burned, and you couldn’t tell if it was from shame or from something you touched, but your hands felt like they were going to blister. 

You found it, a cool metal in a pile of steamy warmth. You grasped it. You pulled. And the key came loose with a sickening noise. With it clutched tightly in your hand, you shuffled backwards in the darkness until you could stand. Sunlight made a disk in the ceiling of the den, and you did not let go of that fucking key as you climbed your way out, feeling much like a baby tumbling from her mother. 

You were disgusting, you were dirty, you were alive. You were seemingly reborn, and you could feel a difference but not name it. You stood tall, breathing heavily and not looking at one thing in particular. Your knuckles were white around the key, refusing to let it go. 

Slow clapping met your ears and tethered you back to the world around you. Pan gave you a smile that made you want to crawl back into the Elm and took the key from your tight grip, his other hand coming to rest on top of your head again. “Good girl.” Again. He took the key, dirty golden thing, and tucked it away in his own weird bag. “This is for you,” he said as he pulled a knife out of his mystery bag and handed it to you. “You’ve earned it, you kill easily.” 

You vomited again, but nothing came out. Here you were, on your hands and knees as you dry heaved. Covered in all sorts of nastiness, dirty and ugly and disgusting. A sickly tired woman who threw her life away at the smallest trickle of adventure. You were ashamed of yourself. You were so ashamed. 

“Woah, are you okay—GERALT! THERE’S A GIRL!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi!! Comments are still appreciated, I have an idea where I want to go, but your suggestions would be awesome. Again, this is our shared adventure!! Should I involve the daedric princes? Let me know ♡ 
> 
> Also, try answering these:  
> 1, do you think Pan is going to become attached to us, or end up as a danger?  
> 2, what would you do if you found a dirty hobo lady puking her guts out?  
> 3, if you know of pan’s labyrinth, would you want to see me put the pale man in this?  
> 4, should I make a dramatic love triangle or make the boys and us poly?


	3. iii || to learn of love

Pan kept to the edges of the tree line, endlessly entertained by the blue eyed boy fretting over you. He knew well who this man was, but this introduction was once in a lifetime and the faun was hoping you’d vomit on the bard, as Pan had always enjoyed other people’s messes. 

“Miss? Are you alright?” The stranger’s voice was sugary—you could practically taste afternoon tea and berry pie on your tongue from it. You nodded, and he sighed. His hands hadn’t left your cheeks, and he had not hesitated one minute to drop to his knees in the dirt and support you. His trousers were awfully dirtied. 

Your eyes met his and you couldn’t help but stare. They were downturned and soft, a stunning blue like the sky on sunny days. He had small freckles dotting his face, fluffy brown hair sweeping his forehead. He stared back, and for a moment it was just you two in the whole existence of everything. 

Then he smiled, “welcome back, darling. There you are. Can you tell me what I can call you?”

His phrasing was odd, usually one would ask if they could have your name. You told him your name, simply your name. Nothing else. 

He repeated it back to you and his cheeks pulled up as another smile blossomed across his face. “It’s very nice to meet you, I am known as Jaskier the great bard.”

“I’ve never heard of you?” You truly hadn’t. 

He groaned and leaned back as if suffering from horrid aches and pains. “A beautiful woman like you not knowing my reputation? I’m wounded.” Before you could comment on his little act he helped you stand and find your balance. He was rather handsy, his fingers dancing along your arms and waist as he made sure you wouldn’t topple over. His care was evident, and his smile alluring. 

“Tell me what happened to make you cry?” He asked so softly, so gently as he pushed your dirty hair from your face. 

“I killed a toad.”

He snorted. “What did you do? Step on it?” You couldn’t help but laugh a little alongside him. His good mood was infectious. “Something like that,” you told him, your own smile growing. The more you spoke to the self proclaimed great bard, the more you felt your chest opening up. It was as if you didn’t know quite how to breathe until this very moment.

“There’s the pretty lady! A smile suits you much more than a frown. Say, has anyone told you you’re bright like the stars? You remind me much of a woman from a story I knew once. I made it into a ballad if you ever would like to hear it!” Jaskier’s rambling turned to a childish screech as a gloved and heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

Broad shoulders were all you could see. Towering above you stood a beast of a man, his face telling a story of neutral contempt. Scars littered his visible skin, but what caught your breath most wasn’t his silver hair or his golden eyes. It was how gentle he was with taking his hand from Jaskier and shifting his intensive stare to you. You’d never seen a man be so soft yet decided, and something about it made your heart yearn just a smidge for the comfort a husband would bring. Just a smidge. 

“Killed a toad?” The newcomer asked, a small tilted lovechild of a smile and a smirk twisted his mouth. You just nodded, and you could see his brows and eyes relax, intense stare moving from you to the trees beyond and back to you. 

“Pan, if you’re there then show yourself. Do not go playing games and getting people hurt.”

Jaskier looked at you quizzically, mouthing the word ‘Pan’ to you, as of expecting an answer. You just scrunched your face and gave a halfassed shrug, ever confused on how your faun knew these men. Or, well. How the brick wall of a man knew your faun. 

You turned to look behind you, confusion growing as you couldn’t seem to find your faun. Hair nor hide of him or his faeries. He left you. The faun left you in the forest covered in Ifrit knows what, with nothing but a small knife from him. How very rude of him. 

“I’m not sure where he went, but yes. He had me get a key from the toad under the Elm. How do you know him?” Your hands found your dirty skirts and clenched the material, your nervousness was coming off you in waves. With the way the newcomer’s nose twitched, you might be inclined to believe he could smell your distress. 

“He’s an old acquaintance of mine. How do you know him? He’s not fond of humans.” He nodded back towards where he and Jaskier had come from with his head and began walking, Jaskier leading you as you talked with the silver haired man. 

“He was kept by the Viscount at Riften to sell, I would feed him. He got out somehow the other night and took me with him.” You paused for a moment, Jaskier’s gentle encouragement a blessing. “I do not know why exactly he had me crawl down the tree and take a key from a toad, but that happened as well.”

“Geralt? Geralt, I’m quite lost—“

“A faun, Jaskier.”

“Like the one with Filivandrel? Gods! Another faun?”

Geralt grimaced, “worse than that one by a lot.”

The way he said it sent shivers down your spine. Just who was your faun, what had he done. 

“Let’s get back to Yen and Ciri, we can talk more once our toad hunter is clean and comfortable.” 

“Since when have you cared about comfort and cleanliness, you big brute?”

He didn’t answer. Jaskier didn’t pry. It reminded you of Pan and yourself. The bard’s hands never left you, holding your shoulders or arms or waist. It was odd, but you felt spoiled. The euphoria of being cared for quelling the shame you felt at being dirtier than a hog after the rains came. 

Without Pan by your side you felt your senses returning. Your head was clear and you could hear the world around you. It was as if an iron pot was removed from your head. With that clarity came anger. Pan used you, he didn’t even need you to escape from Riften and yet he dragged you along. And yet, you let him. He got what he needed, using you as a sacrificial lamb against the toad, and then left. Sadness followed anger, the brewing storm of thoughts blown away as Jaskier squeezed your hand. 

“Do you wish to talk about it?” His eyes bore into yours, wrapping you with gentle blankets made of rain clouds. His voice was a rock in the torrent of emotions that swayed you. 

You kicked a stone on the path as you thought for a moment. “Perhaps.” You paused. 

“I was on my own in Riften, mind you it’s quite difficult to leave that city, even if you want to desperately. No family, not even really friends, although that’s on my shoulders for not allowing people to grow close.” You couldn’t help but laugh as you continued, “I spent most of my time working as a housemaid in the keep. With caring for Pan joining my schedule the last few moons. I never even knew he could speak until he found me in his escape.”

“So,” Jaskier cut in, “he escaped without your help, but had you join him anyway? How odd.”

A grunt from up ahead only proved Jaskier’s point. 

“I just. I followed him, I guess. My head felt like it was full of clouds and sand, I couldn’t think. My feet carried me and I just went.” 

“What of the toad, my love?” Jaskier’s endearing name made your stomach feel a little funny, your face glowing warmer. “He had me get a key from it, I’m not sure why or what for. I had fed it a handful of odds and ends Pan gave me, which killed it.”

“Did you touch it?” Geralt’s voice caught your attention from where he stood paces away. 

“Pardon?” 

“Did you touch the toad?” 

Brows creasing, you replied. “I did, both the skin and the insides.”

Geralt turned faster than someone of his size should be able to, and he marched towards you, grabbing your arms. He didn’t let go as you struggled, his warm hands tugging your sleeves down to look at the reddish blistering skin from where the toad’s tongue had laved over your skin. 

“Does it hurt?” His voice was softer, his thumbs grazing the edges of the inflamed skin. From beside him, Jaskier let in a sharp inhale at the sight. No matter the amount of gore he saw while traveling with Geralt, it never lost its effect on him. 

You could describe yourself as stunned or even taken aback, if you were able to think at the moment. It was as if you were the center of the universe, floating amount a never ending sea of stars, their glow washing over you warmly. Never before have you been held so tenderly, so sweetly. Never before has a man showed such kindness. The men back in Riften were pigs—bragging about acts of violence and they hardly bathed. The only other man you knew much of was your father, who was a less than stellar individual. His death had hardly affected you, but perhaps that was something different. You weren’t sure, love was something you never understood. 

It was almost overwhelming, the way both of the men seemed to worry over you. Geralt’s hands held only your arms, but it felt like you were wrapped in this vast expanse of warmth as broad as his shoulders. Jaskier’s gentle touches reminding you of warm summer rain falling sparsely, kissing you with wetness and care as the sky let it fall. 

A shy little laugh spilled for your lips as you averted your eyes and spoke. “A little, nothing too terrible though.” 

“It looks quite awful. Geralt, do you have anything that could help it? One of your witchering potions or drinks?” Jaskier asked as the man in question released his hold on you, your skin already missing the comfort he gave you. He snorted at Jaskier, shaking his head as another ghost of a smile danced across his face. 

“Yen may be able to help.” the finality of his words stopped the conversation then and there, his mind obviously set on you reaching wherever this Yen and aforementioned Ciri were. 

“Say, darling. Did your Pan tell you anything of that Elm you went adventuring under?” Jaskier broke the silence only minutes in, your small hum of disagreement urging him on. “There are stories that it was once a woman who lived among the stars. She lived every moment of her life in silence, until a man would whisper I love you to the night sky. And the night after, and the night after that! This went on for years, and the woman decided to leave her home and visit the man. When she finally was able to join the world of mere mortals, she could not find her sweet man, nor could she return home. Torn with grief at the dual bladed sword of fate, she faced the sky and cried for many days and nights until she finally became a tree.”

He paused for a moment. “You know, that’s a rather sad story. I like to believe that it was a woman who loved the sun and tried reaching for it, then turned into a tree. Perspective truly changes the way fate plays out, which I think is why we humans so often try to change fate.” He ended at that, the words echoing through your head as the two of you hurried to catch up to Geralt. 

As time went on, and the three of you walked on in companionable silence, something that usually made you feel terribly on edge, a little buzz and gentle pressure bloomed on your shoulder. It was one of the little faeries, and you smiled. 

Perhaps your faun hadn’t left you after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! I really appreciate @Drimon and @eleryl2199, who not only were some of the first people to click on this story, but they didn’t hesitate to comment!! The feedback keeps me going, and I love the input from the questions you answered. 
> 
> With writing I always have these ideas of events, but the in between is where I struggle to write. That being said, it’s what I want to practice as I write this fic, so please critique me! I also have been using rhetoric and repeating phrases, as well as keeping to a set of motifs in symbolism and adjectives—does it work, or is it tacky? Let me know. 
> 
> Also, question time! 
> 
> 1, it seems we’re not very well versed in having someone be gentle to us, what’s the best idea you have as to why?
> 
> 2, do you think we’ll spark a rivalry with Yen, or that we’ll get along with her? 
> 
> 3, thoughts on the tree lady? 
> 
> 4, tell me the best thing that happened to you all week!! ♡


	4. iv || loose ends

Upon meeting her, you instantly disliked Yen. She was far too pretty and far too skilled, and her hands were cold as she healed your burns. As the two men told her of your encounter, she nodded along and hardly acknowledged you. Not that it bothered you too much. She was akin to the tittering nobles you were always so displeased with. The kind with fancy dresses and perfect hair, elegant braids with jewels or flowers dotting them. At least Yen didn’t braid her hair, she left it down—that made her a hair more tolerable. 

The way she eyed you was terrifying. Deep amethyst (or lilac, you couldn’t quite tell) swept over you and your entire being, her stare the crystalline chill to Geralt’s warmth. She was like the moon, big and bright and ever present, and you were but a star, shining faintly next to her. Her stare was predatory, it spoke of distrust and intrigue, of the way a raven would regard a threat. 

Her hands were far from gentle, yet nowhere near rough. The dichotomy of her disposition almost distressing you, but not quite. As she healed your aching skin she asked you a question that caused a hush to fall over the campsite. “What are you?”

You frowned, eyebrows knitting together as you tried and failed to grasp her words. “I’m a maid from the Viscount’s keep in Riften?”

“No,” she waved her hand flippantly and dropped your wrists, “you’re not human. What are you?”

“Yen—“ Jaskier cut in, “don’t do this.” The sweet bard took a seat on the ground next to you and took your hands back in his own. Since Pan has left you with these interesting folks there has been naught a moment without someone touching you, which was equally terrifying and elating. Jaskier was the worst offender, practically glued to your side. 

Geralt called your name, dragging your attention away from the two in front of you to him and Ciri. “Pan doesn’t deal in humans, his bringing you with him from Riften only proves that.”

“He only brought me with him because I cared for him when he was captive,” You argued back, hands still held softly by Jaskier. 

“You said he escaped without your help. He brought you along for a different reason. Why?” 

“I don’t know.”

“You need to figure it out.”

Jaskier squeezed your hands, “it’ll be alright, even if those two sticks are stuck in smelly mud you’ll still have me.”

“And me!” Ciri smiled your way. She reminded you of a little lamb with the ferocity of a lion, everything about her screaming elegance and joy. She radiated light, not like Jaskier’s sunlight, but a soft candlelight. She had been wary of you at first, although she warmed up extremely quickly, which you had no idea why she would even want to. You were just a toad killing maid. 

Ciri joined you and Jaskier as the two of you lounged on the hard ground, soaking in the warmth from the fire. She told you of her grandmother, of her meeting Geralt. Of her father being cursed, of her close capture from Nilfgard. Her bravery filled you with pride, she was such a strong girl, so unlike you. 

Across the small camp, Geralt and Yen whispered harshly to each other. Their secrecy caused your skin to crawl, you knew you were the subject of debate, and that was less than thrilling to piece together. The thoughts screeched in your mind, saying all sorts of heinous things. The thoughts forced memories of your mother’s death to resurface, your father’s distancing. The thoughts pushed and pulled at the corners of your mind—they were the only constant in your life. The only person who won’t leave you. 

As you fell deeper and deeper into your own head, as you did every few days or so, Jaskier couldn’t help but notice your skin grow eerily cold. His words were muffled to you as he panicked, it sounded like you were under water or had curled up in a cellar and listened to people above. Your body was gone, it was just you and the thoughts. The seductively dangerous thoughts. 

You could hear the thundering of horse hooves charging to war, the clanging of silvered metal upon armor. Blades torn from their sheathes and the distinct twang of an arrow flying true. Your head was filled with darkness, simply black. Nothing but emptiness, a mirror to how you felt a good deal of the time. 

You were no longer by the fire with Jaskier and Ciri, you were in an empty void. A chasm of despair. You could feel the unyielding presence of something behind you, someone behind you. 

“The faun gave you a knife—“ the thoughts hissed, chilled fingers wrapping around your throat. “Use it—“

You were thrown roughly back into the moment, sputtering in surprise as water was poured all over you. Yen staring down at you unimpressed with a bucket in hand. “You’re messy and a liability. Get yourself in order.” Her words were colder than the fingers that had crossed your neck. Yet at the same time, you couldn’t help but be relieved. 

Ciri and Jaskier were still beside you, the two looking incredibly worried. 

“What was that?” Jaskier asked in a whisper. 

You shook your head, wet hair dripping on your skirts you so often clenched between your fingers. “I don’t know.”

Yen knew, she knew all too well. Magic was pervasive, and she knew without a doubt that you were far from human. She could smell it on you, a smell that was so odd but alluring, yet it made her wish so badly to ignore you as if you were simply a leaf on a tree. One in a thousand, nothing special. It was intriguing—something about you was so set on seeming normal that it wove magic. Your very soul wanted to hide, she yearned to know why. 

A flash of movement caught her eye. Geralt had returned with a doe slung over his shoulder, but that wasn’t what had her eyebrow cocked. It was the stickish little thing that crawled along your shoulder, chirping and whirring. It was in that moment that she felt a revelation strike, and she knew exactly what you were. Now, why were you here of all places? The stories passed down for generations spoke of it vaguely, but never explained why. Why were you here of all places, why were you in Riften. How. How did it happen. You obviously knew nothing—she figured it was better that way. One thing rang true to Yen, she needed to speak to your faun. She wanted answers. 

Geralt’s molten eyes followed Yen as she strayed from the clearing, her movements curt and filled with purpose, dress falling around her gently as she moved. He had an idea of what she was up to, he wouldn’t stop her. Pan dropped you into the group’s lives, they needed to find out why. 

He kept his hands busy as he butchered the doe, cleaning the fat off the venison and preparing to roast it over the fire. He wasn’t one for cooking, but food was food and right now they all needed it. 

You continued listening to Jaskier weave stories, your hands finding themselves busy braiding Ciri’s hair. 

The fire blazed on, sharing its warmth. 

Yen continued to walk deeper into the forest as she called forth every summoning spell she knew. 

Geralt skewered the venison over the fire.

You laughed at something the bard said, something silly. 

Jaskier smiled. 

Ciri joined your revelry. 

Yen stood alone. 

Geralt watched. 

You. 

Jaskier. 

Ciri. 

Yen. 

Geralt. 

“Pan.”

“The game is over, it appears,” the faun bowed deeply towards Yen, menacing smile ever apparent on his flat nosed face. “What may I do for you?” His thistle teeth shone in whatever light was available, an ever present reminder that this was no ordinary faun. 

“Who is she?” Yen bit back as she crossed her arms, a snarl forming on her delicate lips. She met Pan’s gaze with a stare that would make any man cry, but this faun was no man. 

“A means to an end. She’s needed for me to bring the little princess back home to the Underground.” Pan delightedly tapped his fingertips together, circling Yen with smooth movements. His gnarled wooden limbs creaked, the sound of leaves crunching underfoot so loud, so very much. 

“Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t.” He stood still, his cackle echoed through the forest. “Only the spilled blood of a Seelie will let the princess return home.”

“You disgusting faun, you’re in dealings with the Unseelie Court?”

His grin grew wider, and Yen could feel the hair on the back of her neck rise at it. “The Unseelies made me, I simply do their bidding.” 

Strong wind twisted through the forest without any notice, Yen’s arms coming up to cover her face from the onslaught. Within a second it was over, the faun was gone and Yen had hardly any answers. 

She had one though. You were a faerie, and that was as good a place as any to start. Her return to the camp was marked by her walking directly to you and asking you, to your face, “tell me everything about that fucking faun.”

Her eyes burned into yours, violet fire webbing out as you felt a bucket of fear spill over you. Jaskier and Ciri’s cries were hushed by Geralt, who was watching with a steady gaze as Yen badgered you. “He just one day appeared as a beast for the Viscount to sell and I was the only one not terrified by him, which is why I was his caretaker—“ your voice was strained. 

“He escaped on his own but brought me anyway. And he had me go under the Elm to get a key from a toad, and he gave me a knife—“ 

“Give it to me.” Yen demanded, seriousness steeling her voice and your stomach dropped. Numb fingers slid into your bag and pulled the knife out. Handing it to her, you watched as she turned the blade over and over, rage growing greater in her every particle of being. Beautiful, beautiful rage. 

“The Fae work in deals and debts. You owe Pan, he gave you this knife,” she said as she clenched it tightly, it dusting into nothing in her hand, “it’s cursed. You don’t need it. I don’t like it, but you’re our problem now, and I’m going to fix this. Pan’s using you to find someone and return her home to the Underground, it’s where the dark fae live, the Unseelie Court.”

“He’s wrapping you in this net of servitude and lies, and he’ll kill you when the time comes.” She took a shaky breath of her own and loosened her grip on you. “I’ve been used as a tool. I won’t let anyone do the same to you.”

“We have sixteen stops to make before we will be anywhere close to Pan’s scheming, and you need to learn how to control your emotions. I don’t know what kind of fae you are, however your emotions are pivotal.” She turned to Geralt and the others, her voice growing stronger as she seemingly lit ablaze. “We leave first thing in the morning. Fate is a bitch, we’re changing it. It’s time to visit some old friends of mine.”

“Who?” Jaskier piped up as he skittered back over to you, every inch of him radiating that sunlight that made every muscle in your body relax. 

Geralt answered in Yen’s stead, words falling off his tongue like sand. “The Daedra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This chapter was originally just 1500 words, I managed to stretch it to 1950. It’s a goal to be at least at 2000 for each chapter, but this bit was literally just finishing the beginning but of the story. On to the daedric princes! 
> 
> Which of the daedra would you like to meet first? I personally like Nocturnal, Azura, and Meridia best. Also, should some of them give out items like the ones in game? Obviously I’d trim down the sheer amount of Stuff to a handful of items—the dawnbreaker sword, dagon’s razor, the skeleton key and possibly nightingale armor, stuff like that. 
> 
> What would you like to see going forward? Let me know!!


End file.
